An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from
exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more
exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time
it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed
in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed,
creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with
all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are
tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the
utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled
walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever
known has lived in such an, ah, dated,
home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if
they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all.
Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen,
going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge
cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip
beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys
and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash
of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top,
as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger.
It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into
this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of
the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish
towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her
neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess
being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and
a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but
there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets
her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless)
grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year!
You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear!
Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a
heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite
figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem
to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I
don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t
mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or
maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a
few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a
bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear,
because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded
in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only
because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and
shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear
and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record
books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues,
while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or
how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have
gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic
that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans
would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into
the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why
it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully,
so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine
with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman
returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you
since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love
wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the
corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have
had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some
cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a
generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It
smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated
with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t
seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that
smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two
small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the
rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some
difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank
you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners
regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so
deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity
for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright,
dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood
without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s
ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love
that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You
never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I
just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime.
I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her
rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t
believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind
that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as
well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only
finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning
circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the
library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the
winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket
over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders
and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s
clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.
this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.
i had to
I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE
Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.
Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins
I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils.
Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch.
Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart
In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that.
With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather.
Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here.
Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.”
The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.
They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground.
He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case.
Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson.
The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.
P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.
the last lines of the show:
demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?
anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.
demon: then why?
anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.
demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.
anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!
okay it’s Eleanor @queerandgrumpy’s fault that I’ve given this so much consideration but it’s time for official scores
Edward Ferrars okay so he’d be gentle and sweet and would stroke your face a lot, but sense without sensibility only gets you so far, you know? Edward is the guy you can take home to meet your mum but you don’t feel any particular compulsion to take him to bed. there’d be no passion, and he’d also have no idea what he was doing, but he’d be very nice about it which it why I moved him up from my original 2/10 to a: 3/10
Colonel Brandon
he’s got the brooding and the passion, as well as the intense longing, but on the other hand, he’s on the older side, and not in a sexy way, and he’s so scrupulously moral in a really straightforward way that he probably wouldn’t do anything, well, particularly interesting 5/10
Willoughby (just looked it up and his first name is John?? I refuse to accept that, it never even occurred to me that he would have a first name) okay so Willoughby is everything Brandon isn’t, sure, that’s the point, and he’d think he was fantastic, but he’s that guy who does no foreplay, finishes after five minutes, falls asleep immediately, and then smirks at you later like he thinks he gave you a really good time 2/10
Fitzwilliam Darcy
okay here’s the thing, Darcy would be really good, but only once. so much repression, so much longing, the single best night of your life, but after that he goes back to being shy and awkward and also he feels really weird about what you did together and it makes him even more awkward than before (yes, even if you marry him) 7/10
Charles Bingley oh god can you even imagine? there’s nothing hot about that level of earnestness. he has no idea what he’s doing and neither do you if you even consider going to bed with him 2/10
George Wickham he’s got a bit more game than Willoughby but you can tell how little he respects you and it makes you feel dirty. he’s also probably into some weird shit and gets all defensive and strange if you don’t feel like indulging it 3/10
Mr Collins I refuse to even picture this 0/10
Colonel Fitzwilliam he’s reasonably attractive, he’s nice, he’s considerate, he knows what he’s doing, he doesn’t really want to get involved but he still cuddles you and gets you breakfast in the morning 6/10
Edmund Bertram look, he’s just not hot. it’s impossible to be that into him unless you’re Fanny Price, and you’re not. also you can kind of sense that he’s projected this idealised version of you onto you and it’s weird. all of it’s weird. you tell your best friend about it and she asks how it was and you say “it was weird” 1/10
Henry Crawford I mean we know he’s good, right? he’s “leave your obscenely rich husband” good. I didn’t want to get too detailed and specific on this post, but Henry Crawford gives you like a solid hour of oral before anything else happens, and he does that every time, not just the first time when he’s trying to impress you. but he’s such a shit human being that you feel kind of torn a lot of the time, and also you didn’t sign up for a threesome but his ego is a substantial third presence in the room and you’re kind of tired of having to stroke it 8/10
Mr Rushworth I refuse, and so does Maria 0/10
George Knightley (yes, his name is George, it surprises me every time too) god, okay, Mr Knightley, he’s that older man, the one who only really exists in your fantasies; he knows what he wants, he knows what you want, he’s not even doing the whole repressed longing thing for most of his life, it just genuinely doesn’t bother him that he’s not banging anyone and he only wants to do that with someone he cares about, so if he takes you to bed he really, really cares about you and he wants to make this good for you, he wants to make this so good for you and he’s going to make sure he does as though your sexual satisfaction is the single greatest goal of his life 10/10
Frank Churchill he should be good, right? you thought he was going to be so good, and you can’t even put your finger on anything specific that wasn’t good, but man, it wasn’t good. I mean it wasn’t bad, either, it was just… really, really average. but it seems worse than average because you had big expectations 5/10
Elton (his first name is Philip? I never knew this until now and I refuse to acknowledge it) I also refuse to acknowledge that Elton and sex could have anything to do with each other 0/10
John Knightley I know, no one else has thought about this, no one else cares, this one is just for me. John Knightley, the lesser known Knightley, he’s that guy who would be kind of hot if he only dressed better and wasn’t such a dick, you’ve never really talked to him but then at a party you end up sitting together and you realise that you hate all the same people and at some point you end up making out in a corner and then sneaking into a bedroom and just going for it and it’s not the greatest thing ever but it’s better than that shit party you’re at and he makes you laugh a lot while it’s happening and you never really hang out again but sometimes he catches your eye and winks at you 8/10
Henry Tilney okay so he may be a clergyman but this guy knows things, he’s read some scandalous novels, and has a scandalous older brother who probably never shuts up about his exploits: Henry Tilney knows things. how good would he be in application though? everything he does will be pretty okay, but he’s not hot enough or suave enough to make it really amazing. he’s definitely a good time AND he’s a guy you can take home to your mum, but he lacks that extra level of sex appeal that you get from someone like
George Knightley or Henry Crawford 7/10
John Thorpe fuck that guy. by which I mean, do not, under any circumstances, fuck that guy 0/10
Frederick Tilney okay so he’s hot, and he probably knows a thing or two, but he’s too fundamentally selfish to care. he is entirely focused on his own pleasure, and he even knows that he could make it better for you, he just doesn’t give a shit. but like, he kind of makes you feel like you’re into that? 3/10
William Elliot you have an advantage over Anne Elliot here in that he’s not your cousin, but like with Anne he’s still totally just using you. he’s real charming though, and this boy has gotten around and knows exactly what he’s doing. he’d be a really good time if you couldn’t tell he was already figuring out who he wants to sleep with after you 6/10
Captain Frederick Wentworth jesus, okay, here we go, I just got all flustered just thinking about this. you’ve never seen so much repressed longing in one place and it doesn’t even matter if you’re not the one he’s longing for, he’s still going to pour so much pent up angst and lust into every movement that he’ll be the best thing you’ve ever had. he’s considerate and sensitive too though, he looks at you the whole time, directly at you, and holds your face in his hands when he kisses you, and he directs you so, so gently and holds you to him like you’re precious and fragile, even when he’s throwing everything into it in a way that leaves you literally breathless. you feel things you didn’t know could be felt, emotionally and physically. you think it’s over and he smiles knowingly at you and says “ready to go again?” when you’re falling asleep he pulls you closer to him and whispers that you’re beautiful. you’ve never felt as safe as you do in his arms, and even though you’re exhausted now you know you’re going to do it all over again in the morning and probably into the afternoon I can’t even give him a numerical score, whatever scoring system you’re using he’s better than the highest possible score
ماهرخ
Mahrokh, literally “moon-face”. A Persian name chiefly for girls. The moon is associated as one of the highest levels of beauty in Persian culture. To be named this is to be called the silent beauty of a full moon on a clear night. (via baklavugh)
Hell lives inside you
Its flames lick your teeth
Its heat burns your skin
Its madness reflects on your eyes
You’d do anything to be the devil’s favourite (via softalina)
I love kissing. but why do I have to touch you? why do you think touching you would make this, whatever is between us, more real?
[…]
I don’t want to have to touch you to prove you that I love you.
His fingers dig into the soft flesh of her throat, a lethal threat tight with something sentimental, something that urges and presses and can’t surrender. He presses his thumb harder in the soft flesh until breathing gets harder.
“You see what you do to me?”
He whispers, eyes on fire, bright and daring against the endless void. Everything is dark, his features almost invisible in the dim Prussian blue of the night. He leans down and she lies perfectly still, not even a muscle twitches. His lips are dry on her ear.
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